And Many More
by daleksigma
Summary: The NuWho Doctors celebrate their tenth birthdays. Some are happier about it than others.


Notes:

Written for the 10th Anniversary of NuWho. Happy ten years since Rose!

* * *

_WAR_

He might have destroyed a small village that day. Or maybe wiped out a few thousand Daleks. Perhaps he spent the day arguing with the High Council. Or simply flying aimlessly through the time vortex in search of new battles to fight.

Like his name, his tenth birthday was forgotten in the midst of war.

_NINE_

He didn't do birthdays. Not for himself, not for anyone.

The Doctor sat in a rundown little outdoor café on Proxima 2 and stared out at the jagged mountains. He'd taken off his jacket to survive the sweltering heat, but otherwise looked no different than he did every other day. He'd simply realized the fact that he'd been in this incarnation for ten years upon leaving the TARDIS this morning. It meant nothing to him.

Nothing at all. Ten years of nightmares. Ten years of wondering what he could have done differently to get Rose Tyler to accept his offer to travel with him. Ten years of being utterly alone.

He looked around, as if to find some solace in his surroundings. The café he sat at sold little cakes. That was what humans did at birthdays. Ate cake.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. There was nothing to celebrate. What was a 10th birthday when all it celebrated was ten years he wished he hadn't had to live—ten years of being the killer of his own kind.

He didn't do birthdays. Not for anyone.

_Especially_ not for himself.

_TEN_

He remembered the café. He'd thought about buying himself a cake back when his last incarnation had turned ten, but had decided against it. Now he wished he had.

The radiation had torn through this body, and now, holding back his regeneration was growing more painful by the second. It was a miracle he was still standing upright. Cold snow fell on his feverish skin, and the cold winds of New Year's Eve blew at his hair. Any moment now, Rose Tyler would be passing by with her mum, a few short months before he met her for the first time. He had to be strong, to see her one last time.

Six years he had lived. Six short years, and nothing to show for it but an empty TARDIS and two failing hearts. He leaned against the wall of the alley for support, clenching his teeth against the pain. His tenth incarnation—his tenth _proper_ incarnation, anyway—and he hadn't made it to ten years.

He should have known what he had when he'd sat in that café. He should have known there was something to celebrate. So he made himself a promise: whoever the new man he became would be, if he ever made it to ten years, he would buy himself a cake.

_ELEVEN_

The pastry shop was amazing. The Doctor could barely contain his excitement. He danced from table to table, sniffing the various cakes and pies spread out in colorful displays.

He was halfway through browsing the selections of decorated cupcakes before he noticed that Amy and Rory weren't behind him. Glanced anxiously around the shop, only to find them in conversation with a woman standing behind the counter. He bounded over to them—almost knocking over a stack of biscuits along the way.

"Doctor, you promised us somewhere fun, not some old pastry shop," Amy said.

"Some old pastry shop! This is the Kuko Pastry Shop! Galactically famous—locations in seventeen systems— best cakes in the cosmos!"

"We've been in here for three hours," Rory said.

The Doctor grinned. "I know."

Amy cast Rory an exasperated glance. "And when are we going to actually _buy_ something?"

"I don't know. I haven't found what I'm looking for yet."

"A birthday cake. You said you were looking for a birthday cake," Amy said. "That was before you went and sniffed all the biscuits and pies. Those aren't cakes."

"It's the experience!" he insisted.

"So anyway, I just talked to the woman at the counter, and she said she had the perfect thing for you.

Amy put a white box into his hands. The Doctor opened the box and poked his nose inside. A little blue cake almost got icing on his nose. It smelled good—and it was TARDIS blue.

"Good enough?" Amy said.

He sighed. "Okay, we'll leave."

Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor dug through his toolbox beneath the console and fished out a knife. Well, it was a more of a tool for cutting through superstrong synthetic materials than an eating utensile, but at least it was clean.

He brought it back up to the console and set to work cutting the cake.

"So, Doctor. Candles?" Amy appeared behind him with a packet of tiny candles and a lighter.

But the Doctor spun around and nearly threw a plate of cake into Amy's hands, and then attempted a little toss at Rory that ended in a somewhat mangled-looking, icing-smeared, but not-on-the-floor piece of cake in his hands. Why wait for candles when you could just eat the cake?

"Happy Ten Years!" he exclaimed.

It wasn't until later, after Amy and Rory had gone to bed, that he allowed his silly grin to drop. He'd made a promise to himself that he would cherish the time that this body had.

A promise was a promise, but he rather agreed with his second-to-previous incarnation—more time spent alive wasn't necessarily a thing to celebrate. And the man who had destroyed his own people, who put his friends in constant danger—whose name had raised an army against him—he shouldn't be celebrating life.

Quietly, he picked the leftover cake from its precarious position on the console, and tossed it unceremoniously out the door into deep space.

Tomorrow, he'd tell them that he'd eaten it all.

Tomorrow, he wouldn't tell them that he only celebrated his birthday out of a sense of duty.

_Rule 1: the Doctor lies._

_TWELVE_

There were ten candles on the cake, and the Doctor was watching them carefully to make sure that they didn't catch anything else on fire. Who lit a cake on fire to celebrate being alive for another year? Clara smiled at him from across the table, but he merely scowled at the cake. He fiddled with the itchy elastic string of the cone-shaped hat the Clara had made him wear. Did he have to look like an idiot, too, to celebrate being a year older?

He hadn't wanted a cake or a _party hat_. His last few tenth birthdays hadn't exactly been fun, he would have been more than happy to forget this one and just get on with life—not that he said that to Clara.

"Just this once," Clara had said. "We've skipped your last ten birthdays, just let me do something special for this one."

And then, of course, she had done the thing where her eyes inflated and after that, the argument was lost. His tenth year in this body he would celebrate.

"Make a wish," Clara said, bringing him back to reality.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "For what?"

"Whatever you want."

"I have everything I want."

Not completely true. There were things yet to be done. Gallifrey was yet to be found, for example. But he'd spent too many of his previous tenth birthdays thinking about things he hated and wanted to change—mostly himself, true, but still—and he wanted to move past that.

But, making a wish would make Clara happy. Why else was he wearing this itchy hat and trying to keep a cake from burning to the ground? "Yes, boss."

He stared at the cake. What to wish for? Of course—exactly that. "I wish for Clara Oswald to be happy."

He chanced a glance up at her. Was that an acceptable wish? Her face was suddenly all colored in, but she didn't seem angry. He'd take that as a yes.

Then he carefully put out each candle by snuffing it between two fingers to keep any wax from dripping on the cake. Clara looked distinctly disappointed.

"What?"

"You're supposed to blow them out."

"But that splatters wax all over your decorations!"

Clara had drawn the TARDIS on the cake in blue and white icing, with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOCTOR" written below it. He began to carefully remove the candles to keep them from mangling the decorations.

Clara sighed. "Well, it's the thought that counts. C'mon, let's eat."

She dug a knife out of a drawer and cut two chunks out. She handed him a paper plate with one of the pieces, and then, with no warning, smothered him in a hug. He sat there, frozen, until the smothering ended.

"Happy birthday, Doctor," she said. "And many more."

He smiled at her, and for the first time in many lives, he agreed. "And many more."


End file.
